


SHTD

by zjofierose



Series: Full Moon Fic(let)s [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, AU, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, creeper!Stiles, gas station fic, un-subtle derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times the Super Hot Trucker Dude comes in Stiles' gas station; one time Stiles comes in SHTD's truck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SHTD

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of ridiculousness for the #full moon challenge from http://tw-fullmoonchallenge.tumblr.com/. Cross-posted to tumblr at zjofierose.tumblr.com
> 
> ETA: So, the location of this fic was loosely based on a gas station in a tiny town I'd driven through many times in Northern California. In mid-September, [that town was hit by an incredibly terrible wildfire](http://www.scpr.org/news/2015/09/24/54608/valley-fire-hundreds-of-millions-in-damage-estimat/), and more than half of it burned to the ground. Now, I know that fic-readers are not necessarily a wealthy bunch, but if you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to the recovery efforts of Lake County, CA. 
> 
> Some links to help you with this can be found [here at LoveLakeCounty.org](http://www.lovelakecounty.org/), and [here at the Redwood Credit Union](https://www.redwoodcu.org/lakecountyfirevictims).
> 
> Thank you so much.
> 
> -zjo 10/1/2015

The first time Stiles sees Super Hot Trucker Dude it's from behind, and, well, it's a memorable moment. Stiles is so busy scoping out the ass in those painted on Carhartts that he walks face first into one of the light poles next to the far line of pumps, making it clang like a bell and raising a welt around his eye like drag queen eyeshadow post-tequlia binge.

Scott laughs till he cries, but he does let Stiles hide behind the counter with a Coors Light to his face while Scott rings up Super Hot Trucker Dude. Stiles watches in the curved mirror from his seat on the floor, and nearly chokes on his tongue when Trucker Dude finishes paying, catches his eye in the glass, and winks.

\--

Super Hot Trucker Dude doesn't come in for a while after that, and Stiles is content thinking it was just a fluke, because really, seeing that ass once in a lifetime is a privilege, and never let it be said that Stiles is ungrateful. Scott lets him rhapsodize about it when their shifts overlap (between 5 and 9pm on Fridays and Saturdays), then shakes his head and fucks off to go pick up Allison, leaving Stiles to occupy himself till 2am with thoughts of that khaki-cupped perfection.

He's face down in a case of Rolling Rock a month or so later when he looks up from restocking the beer case to find himself eye-level with the _Ass de Triomphe_ , and though he's proud of himself that he neither moans nor drools, he does lose his balance and fall over backwards, taking the case of Rolling Rock with him as he goes.

It makes an almighty noise, the crash of the bottles against the floor and each other, the thunk of his skull hitting the linoleum, the rhythmic echo as the bottles roll away across the floor. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Scott to come running, before he remembers that it's past midnight and Scott's been gone for hours.

"Pretty sure those go in the cooler, not on the floor."

Stiles groans. Of _course_ Super Hot Trucker Dude also has a Voice of Sex. He flails a hand up over his forehead.

"Leave me to die."

"You mean you'd just die and leave all these bottles rolling around for your innocent customers to trip over?" Stiles cracks an eye open suspiciously, and yep, that is Super Hot Trucker Dude, alright- that is Super Hot Trucker Dude mocking him.

" _Rude_."

"You sure are. C'mon, up."

He's on his feet before he can process it, which says all kinds of things about whatever Trucker Dude's got going on under that over-sized leather jacket, and he makes it back behind the counter without falling over any rogue bottles (ok, yes, because Trucker Dude caught him under the arms when he tripped over one, _whatever_ ). He takes Trucker Dude's cash, gives him his receipt, and totally doesn't lose the next five minutes watching on the lot cams as Super Hot Trucker Dude strips off his jacket to wash his window ( _sweet baby Jesus, his triceps_ ) and then climbs into the cab of his big, sleek, black semi.

Somehow Stiles doesn't think he's compensating for anything.

\--

In October, he's sitting outside on the picnic table behind the station, taking his last break before Scott goes off shift. He's got his rolling papers and his pouch, has just finished rolling up his smoke (mostly the brown kind of smoke, _mostly_ , and if there's just a bit of green that made its way into the mix, well, it's fucking _boring_ on weeknights at Beacon Hill's one gas station, give him a break), is literally in the process of dragging it down his tongue to seal it up when there's a voice in his ear.

"Got a light?"

" _Christ_ on a motherfucking _cracker_!"

Stiles fumbles his rollie when he jumps, bouncing it up in the air and flailing for it as it pinwheels through the dark. He misses, of course, but Super Hot Trucker Dude does not, and holds it out to him with a knowing smirk and a cocked eyebrow.

"Roll your own?"

Stiles takes it from his ( _large, broad, strong_ ) hand and shoves it in his mouth, pulling out his lighter and flicking it to catch the end, taking a long drag and handing it over as he nods in response.

"That's hot."

Stiles chokes on the smoke in his lungs, coughing and coughing while Super Hot Trucker Dude whacks him between the shoulder blades. By the time he's recovered, the cherry on his cigarette is nearly gone, so he takes another drag, making it flare bright red in the dark. Super Hot Trucker Dude has fished out his own smokes by this point, has one dangling obscenely from his lips as he shoves the pack back into his jeans and leans in.

Some kind of largely-lacking self-preservation instinct keeps Stiles still, watching mesmerized as Trucker Dude sets the end of his cigarette against Stiles', locks eyes, and takes a slow draw, the spark from Stiles' own smoke igniting the end of Trucker Dude's where they touch. Stiles blinks, licks the corner of his mouth, and Super Hot Trucker Dude's lips do something that sinfully approximates a smile but looks more like candied sex as he slips Stiles' lighter back into Stiles' shirt pocket.

"Thanks."

Stiles finally remembers to nod when Super Hot Trucker Dude is halfway back to his truck.

"You're... you're welcome?"

\--

In Stiles' defense, he really did think the bathroom was empty when he went in to refill the soap dispensers. He sure wouldn't have been singing that particular song under his breath (ok, fine, _loudly_ ) if he had realized anyone was in there. So he's got the fronts off the wall dispensers and is balancing the big jug of floral-smelling pink stuff when the back shower flicks on.

He flails, but manages not to drop the jug. Who the hell is in here with him? Every slasher film ever flashes before his eyes before he remembers that, whoever is in here with him, they have to know he's here, and they've chosen not to keep their presence a secret, and ergo, are not going to murder him and leave a bloody mess.

Either that, or they're very confident.

No, no, it must just be some random trucker who came in to use the showers when Stiles was getting the soap out of the supplies closet or something. He doesn't miss much,usually, but if the timing was right, sure, he wouldn't have seen them.

He finishes filling the reservoirs, caps the jug, and gets the fronts back on the dispensers before he's overcome with a wave of curiosity. He just wants to know who managed to sneak past him, that's all. It's not creepy. It's just a healthy sense of wonder about his world. Also, he's alone late at night with whoever is getting their wash on back here, it's only safe to know who's been benefitting from his Bowie stylings.

He puts down the jug, and, thanking all the gods that he's wearing his oldest and most silent tennis shoes, creeps back down the line of stalls. It's an old gas station, and pretty small, and so there are only three toilet stalls before you hit the two shower stalls at the back, one on the left, and the handicapped one on the right. Mystery Dude is in the right hand stall, which means all Stiles needs to do to get a peek is to sidle down the line of stalls on his left, maybe half duck into the last one, and then stick his eyeball to that little gap where the shower curtain doesn't quite meet the divider.

Easy peasy.

Everything goes off without a hitch- he makes it down the line of stalls without a noise, slides himself into the last stall, and is leaning in when he hears the soft but unmistakable repetitive slipping sound that can only mean one thing- Mystery Dude is having some alone time. Greasing his stick. Practicing some wrist aerobics. Playing the single string air guitar.

There's a minute when Stiles wonders if he really wants to see some fat middle-aged Midwestern dude whacking himself off, but curiosity wins before he even really has a chance to finish the thought, and he's leaning in to squint at the gap even as the sound speeds up.

In hindsight, Stiles isn't certain how he doesn't injure himself, because that is sure as hell no middle-age Midwesterner, and in fact, Stiles is absolutely certain that he recognizes the glory that is that rear end. The sudden moan from the shower clenches it, and Stiles bites his lip hard to keep from moaning himself.

That, right there, jerking himself off in the back shower stall of Stiles' place of employment, is Super Hot Trucker Dude.

Stiles has _got_ to get the hell out of there.

It's a small miracle that he makes it back to the sinks where he left his jug of soap in one piece. It's a slightly larger miracle that he manages to get it and get out the door without making any noise that would remind Super Hot Trucker Dude that there was a person in there with him.

It's not a miracle at all, but rather a serious lack of conviction that keeps Stiles hiding in the staff room until he can watch Super Hot Trucker Dude leave on the monitoring cams.

\--

It's cold outside, because it's nearly January, when Stiles looks up from his National Enquirer to see Super Hot Trucker Dude waiting in front of the counter. He's wearing the leather jacket again, and has what looks like a hand knit hat yanked down over his ears. His beard is a little scruffier, the scarf around his neck matches the hat on his head, and his cheeks are adorably pink with cold.

Stiles can feel his whole body heat up as Trucker Dude smiles at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, teeth showing.

"Hey."

Stiles tries to reply, swallows wrong and coughs. The last time he heard that voice, it was decidedly non-verbal, and he hasn't been able to get that sound out of his head for love nor money. Ok, fine, he hasn't tried to at all, but still.

Trucker Dude smiles wider. He sets his purchases up on the counter, and the bottom drops out of Stiles heart.

Two generic energy drinks. One extra large bag of beef jerky. And one over-priced pack of Pampers.

 _Oh god_ , Stiles thinks, _matching hand knit winter wear. Diapers_.

He wants to cry, but he rings the items up instead, bagging them numbly.

"How old's your kid?" He doesn't know why he asks, it's like insult to injury to picture Super Hot Trucker Dude with some angelic child, some nebulous-faced-but-no-doubt-beautiful woman standing at his side. He takes the dude's money and makes change, hands him the handles of the plastic bag.

"Natalia? She's eighteen months." The smile on his face is blinding, and Stiles kind of wants to be sick. He braces himself on the counter as Trucker Dude heads for the door, then pauses briefly with his hand on the glass. "But she's my niece." He smiles, winks, and leaves.

Niece. _Niece_. Stiles pumps his fist in the air, knocking loose half the packs of Camels which then rain down on him triumphantly. _Niece_!

\--

He's ringing up the third bag of Doritos the customer has put on the counter when suddenly there's a gun in his face, and _goddamn_ , he never really realized how much scarier they are from the business end, or quite how large that little hole in the end looks when it's pointing at your face. He empties the cash drawer just like he's told, pushing the panic button with his knee as he does, but the guy is clearly agitated, really wanted a lot more money for his risk then he's getting from a small-town gas station. The cops are at least two minutes away, and Stiles is getting more and more concerned about how both the pitch and volume of Gun Waving Guy's voice have been rising.

It actually turns out to be a brilliant piece of luck that Gun Waving Guy likes the sound of his own voice so much, because it covers the slight noise of the bathroom door opening and closing, and if Stiles weren't half a second away from a panic attack, he'd be annoyed, because what the hell kind of bathroom ninja _is_ Super Hot Trucker Dude anyway, this is the second time he's been in the bathrooms and Stiles had no idea.

Super Hot Trucker Dude moves like a predator, and the look on his face is absolutely furious, so Stiles makes sure not to telegraph anything to Gun Waving Guy while Trucker Dude sneaks up behind him. He takes a chop to the side of his neck and what looks like a brutally sharp elbow to the kidneys and drops like a sack of rocks, the gun falling to the floor and spinning out of his reach. Super Hot Trucker Dude kicks it down the aisle, then kicks Gun Waving Guy for good measure before striding over to the counter and getting his fists into Stiles ratty flannel shirt.

"Are you ok? He didn't hurt you, did he?" Trucker Dude's face is wide open and anxious, and all Stiles can do is shake his head no before Trucker Dude's mouth is on his, lips warm and urgent. Stiles melts, all the anxiety and panic sliding from his body as Trucker Dude kisses him.

Colored lights and sirens fill the station and Stiles pulls back, because, well, his father will be inside any second. Trucker Dude is still gripping his shirt, though, so Stiles covers his hands with his own.

"Hold that thought?"

Super Hot Trucker Dude smiles, nods, releases his death grip just as his dad flings open the door, gun drawn.  Trucker Dude steps back, careful not to make any sudden moves.

"Hey." Stiles looks up questioningly from where he's watching his father cuff Gun Waving Guy on the floor. "Derek." Trucker Dude smiles.

 _Derek_. Stiles grins.

"I'm Stiles."

\--

It takes a good hour and a half before they're done giving statements and all the flashing lights leave. But after that, Stiles blows Derek in his truck until they're both relaxed.

Then he does it again, just to make sure.


End file.
